


Touch Has a Memory

by Durinsbride



Series: All of You [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Angst, Emotional Baggage, Explicit Sexual Content, Extended Foreplay, F/M, Jealousy, Masturbation, Romance, Sex, Sexual Tension, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 16:21:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1905696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Durinsbride/pseuds/Durinsbride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Love</i>…that word had been thrown around a lot last night, hadn’t it?  And not in the way she’d expected.  Thinking of it now, her heart stuttered, and she struggled to swallow past the lump in her throat.  What had he meant by it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch Has a Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated with Love to LauraRobin and all the other talented writers of this fandom.

_Touch has a memory._  
 _O say, love, say,_  
 _What can I do to kill it and be free_  
 _In my old liberty?_

_John Keats_

 

 

_Warm._

Clarke woke just before dawn, the birdsong that surrounded their camp the only accompaniment to Bellamy’s gentle breathing as she slowly surfaced towards consciousness, blinking the last of heavy sleep from her eyes. 

Warm, and safe. 

These were her first thoughts, sensations really, every morning when she woke tangled in him, breathing in the scent of his heated skin, a mixture of smoke, wood, water and her. She needed that scent as much as she needed air, so she took a deep breath to sample it fresh, to hold it in her lungs and let it envelop her. Every morning for the past month, this was her new reality. Just a few short weeks, she knew factually, but it felt like longer. It felt like forever. 

She always woke before Bellamy. Even if he chanced to fall asleep before she did, which was rare, Clarke found herself rising from their shared bed long before the first light paled the sky. Soon the rest of the camp would wake as well; living as they did out in the open, with only the natural rhythms of nature to cycle them through their days, the lot of them had developed the habit of falling asleep with the setting sun, and waking when it rose. 

She huffed a soft chuckle against Bellamy’s chest, a rueful smile tilting her mouth. That is, when Bellamy _let_ her sleep. Last night she’d been suspended in blissful, post-coital rest when he decided it would be a good idea to wake her with the delicious weight of his hips rocking and circling against hers. Not that she regretted it, of course, considering how it had ended, but it had meant less sleep altogether. 

A heavy sigh escaped her at the memory, and she nestled a little closer to him, suddenly reluctant to leave the tangle of his arms. She pushed her nose into his sternum, pressing a gentle kiss there, a bead of arousal pulsing between her legs. 

Maybe she should be the one to wake _him_ this time. 

She struggled with that temptation for a moment before deciding against it. She had too much to do today. Winter was coming, and they needed stores and preserves to see them through the worst of it. She couldn’t waste half the day with Bellamy in bed, even if she wanted nothing more than to do just that, responsibilities be damned.

_It wouldn’t hurt to indulge a little_ , she thought suddenly, eagerly, _really it wouldn’t_.

Yes. Yes it would. And she knew it. Duty, as ever, was calling. Still…she hesitated for a beat more before finally moving to untangle her limbs from his. He was going to be the death of her—him and his sinful, precisely calibrated hips that moved with fluid grace when he set them in motion, knowing exactly where and how to press against hers until she was desperate for the feeling of him inside her, filling her, splitting her apart from the inside. 

She sounded another heavy breath as she pulled his arms away from her hips with great reluctance. It wasn’t her fault the boy (man, really) was a seriously skilled lover that left her shaking and boneless when he was through with her. _Now_ she knew why there’d been so many girls lining up for a night in his tent when they’d first landed… 

She ignored the bitter spike of jealousy that tightened her throat at the memory of those early days, reminding herself that she had hated him then—a bully and a rabble rouser, a dissident with a silver tongue and canny, dark eyes. She’d wanted nothing more than to drop a heavy rock over his head and be done with it. 

But even then, she could admit, there’d been this heady, electrical awareness of his every move, his muscular, fit body. When she’d gone after him only a day after landing, asking about the gun he carried, he hadn’t said anything; he’d simply lifted his shirt to show it to her, treating her to the sight of his lean hip and the flat, tight wall of his stomach, a wicked light in his dark, dark eyes as they met hers, as if asking her if she liked what she saw, and did she want to see more. (And she had. And she did.) 

“You’re such a whore,” she whispered to him, without any real heat, and only because he was still sleeping. She didn’t _really_ think of him that way, she was just jealous of how easily, how quickly he could seduce whomever he chose. He could charm the birds from the sky with that clever tongue of his, and reluctant, guilty attraction from a logical, cool-headed girl just by lifting the hem of his shirt. 

Bellamy sensed her movement and began to stir, not quite waking, but alert enough to resist moving away from her, his arms momentarily tightening around her waist. The movement dislodged a curl from his forehead, the inky coil dropping to rest in front of his eyes. 

A little stab of some indefinable emotion pierced her chest, and she reached forward to wrap the lone strand around her finger, a black circlet against her pale hand. She _loved_ his hair. It was the prefect representation of the man himself: wild, vibrant, dark, rich and all too tempting to the senses. 

_Love_ …that word had been thrown around a lot last night, hadn’t it? And not in the way she’d expected. Thinking of it now, her heart stuttered, and she struggled to swallow past the lump in her throat. What had he meant by it? _I love your eyes,_ he’d said, but she was pretty certain he meant to say something else entirely before he lost the nerve and said that instead. The expression in his eyes…she shivered just thinking about it. 

_Love_. Such a heavy, worrisome word. Last night, her body still pulsing pleasantly from her forth or fifth orgasm of the night (she tended to lose track when it came to sex with Bellamy, he was just so damn good at making her come) she’d had no trouble voicing that word aloud. But now, as dawn slowly paled the sky, she found her courage floundering fast. How could she had said such a thing when she really didn’t know where they stood, or what, exactly, was happening between them? It had been a month of amazing, toe-curling sex and free-floating bliss in between. She’d never had time to actually stop and think about what they were doing, and what it all meant. 

And she wasn’t about to start now. It could wait. She had more important things to worry about, and the status of her…informal relationship with Bellamy was a topic best left to another day. 

Quickly, with a silence born of long practice, Clarke pulled away from his sleeping form and got up to dress. She would dash off to her tent to bathe (the best that could be done with cold water and a small rag) and met up with Monty at the drop ship after a quick breakfast. She tossed one last, regretful glance over her shoulder before she ducked under the flap of his tent and stepped outside into the cold air. She would almost certainty see Bellamy in a few short hours—it was their habit to meet every morning for a quick meeting to share information and compare notes on the various projects they were overseeing. All perfectly innocent and professional. Then maybe later, business out of the way, she would drag him off somewhere to have her way with him before the day was done. 

Clarke snorted quietly to herself. The man was making a whore out of her. An unrepentant slut… 

She took a deep cleansing breath of the cool morning air and closed her eyes, savoring the relative peace of the dawn. Who knew how many moments of peace like this she could enjoy before it all came to head. Tension with the Grounders was at an all time high, and the threat of reprisal for the events at the bridge loomed over their heads daily. For now, there was an odd ceasefire and a silence from their enemy camp, and Clarke was determined to savor every moment of peace while she could.

When she opened her eyes that peace was shattered when she suddenly realized that she was not alone. There was someone standing at the base of the ramp by the drop ship, a lone figure pausing for a moment to take a drink from the communal water supply. Her emergence from Bellamy’s tent must of caught his eye, because after taking a swallow he cast his glance in her direction, lifting his eyes to meet hers, a puzzled expression on his face. 

Tim. Tim Bartlett. 

She froze on the spot, completely and utterly unprepared for this. She’d never, until now, ran into anyone when she ducked out of Bellamy’s tent in the morning. She was always so careful, in fact, poking her head out of the tent first to cast a cautious glance around before emerging. But today she had been a bit anxious to leave, startled as she was with the question of her and Bellamy’s relationship, that she hadn’t taken the usual precaution.

Heat flooded her face as she fought off a blush. He was staring right at her, and even from this distance she could see that he was surprised to see her there, standing just at the threshold to the entrance of Bellamy’s tent. He was looking back and forth between Clarke and the tent behind her, as if trying to puzzle out exactly what he was looking at, blinking a few times as if he doubted what he saw. 

Shit. _Shit._ How could this be happening? 

She didn’t dare call out a greeting. In fact she just wanted to ground to open up right then and swallow her away. Better yet, she wished she could just go back in time a few seconds, and wait until he was gone before leaving Bellamy’s tent. Because…because this was discovery. And no one knew yet what was going on between the two of them. It was a secret. Wasn’t it? One she only now realized that she was desperate to keep.

Tim raised a hand in greeting, but when she made no response he dropped his hand and shuffled awkwardly on his feet for a beat or two before dropping his eyes from hers altogether, hesitating only a moment more before he shouldered his rifle and took off in the direction of the latrine. Pointedly and obviously ignoring her. Trying to indicate with his very body language that he did _not_ see her. Nope, didn’t know she was there. Never had been, as far as he was concerned. 

At least, that’s what Clarke wanted to believe he was trying to say. That by some small miracle he was tacitly agreeing to pretend that he hadn’t seen her, wasn’t the least bit curious as to why she was leaving Bellamy’s tent at this time in the morning, hair and clothes in disarray, a guilty, shell-shocked expression on her face as he walked past her. 

_Please, please don’t say anything,_ she silently prayed, standing as still as stone as he passed, hardly able to breathe until he was gone, completely out of sight. 

Damn. 

This was so _not_ good. 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay kids, settle in for a slightly longer, more angsty read before we proceed to the scorching smut to follow. Because yes, there _will_ be much more smut this time around and far more explicit in nature than in the first installment. I apologize that this beginning is perhaps a bit maudlin or overblown, but I was struggling with this part of it and wasn't sure how best to set up the event to follow. I'm not as well practiced or as skilled a writer as I would like, and I have high ambitions but not the talent to match, I'm afraid, so bear with me.
> 
> But fear not--I have some very interesting things planned for this installment, and it will require more than one chapter this time around. And things are going to get dirty, hell yes, and smutty, and so, so sexy. (At least I hope). Thanks in advance for reading.
> 
> Much Love to All--


End file.
